"Let's go. We need to clear out of here."
Once the cabin was completely consumed by flames, Mike, shouldering a heavy pack, signaled for the others to move out.
This "rescue mission" had been incredibly profitable for Mike. In addition to the three [Ability Orbs] he snagged, he had also scavenged a large bag of jewelry and valuables.
These expensive items, which normal people used for decoration, had been tossed into corners like trash by the cannibals.
Clearly, given the cannibals' single-digit IQs, they wouldn't have thought to hoard valuables on their own.
There was likely someone behind the scenes instructing the monsters to collect the goods.
The weight of Mike's pack also suggested that someone had visited the cabin prior to this to strip it of the most liquid assets—specifically, the cash.
In the clearing in front of the burning cabin, Jessie and the others found the vehicle the cannibals used for towing amidst the wreckage.
It was a heavy-duty semi-truck that had been retrofitted into a tow truck, complete with a massive claw-like hook on the back.
That hook explained the state of the car graveyard; every vehicle towed here had been crushed into scrap metal.
With no other options, the group climbed into the semi, which reeked of rust and dried blood, and drove back toward the main road.
About fifteen minutes later, the four survivors reached the main road and spotted Mike's pickup truck parked on the shoulder.
"Take a breather. I've got food in the truck..." Mike hopped down from the semi, swinging his pack over his shoulder.
He tossed the bag of loot onto the passenger seat of his pickup, then went to the truck bed to grab some provisions.
Jessie, Chris, and Carly had been running for their lives all day and hadn't eaten a thing.
They didn't stand on ceremony. They grabbed the food and water Mike offered and wolfed it down.
Emergency rations, chocolate bars, and small bottles of purified water—the most basic supplies imaginable—tasted like a Michelin-star meal to them right now.
As the food hit their stomachs and their blood sugar stabilized, the three of them finally felt like they were truly alive again.
The complex emotions of surviving a near-death experience washed over them.
Carly, who had brushed shoulders with death multiple times that night, began to sob quietly.
The events of the day felt like a waking nightmare.
But thankfully, the nightmare was over.
"You guys should head to the nearest town to rest. I still have some business to take care of..."
Mike leaned against his truck, taking a sip of water. Seeing that they had eaten and calmed down, he began to organize their itinerary. "By the way, Chris. Before you go, hand me that photo."
Hearing this, Chris pulled out the photo but hesitated, seeming to realize something. "Let me go with you."
The cannibals' intelligence level suggested they were nothing more than primal beasts drinking blood and eating raw flesh.
So, where did they get weapons, tow trucks, and household supplies? How did they learn to set complex traps and hunt strategically?
Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Someone was pulling the strings.
And Chris realized his situation was different from the others. He had been funneled into that forest road by a map and deliberate misdirection.
Specifically, Chris—in his rush to save time—had asked for directions at that roadside inn.
Connecting the dots, unless you were completely dense, the identity of the person controlling the cannibals was obvious.
"I can handle this alone. You three need to go find a hotel and crash," Mike said as he took the photo, rejecting Chris's offer.
He wasn't going to a dinner party; he didn't need an entourage.
Besides, if Mike's deduction was correct, things were about to get messy.
When it comes to silencing the bad guys, it's better to have fewer witnesses.
"Where are you going? I'm coming with you..." Sensing Mike was about to leave them, Carly immediately clung to his arm.
After being saved by him, she had developed a severe dependency on him.
Behind them, Jessie didn't speak, but the look on her face made it clear she was worried about Mike, too.
Being too popular was its own kind of burden.
"Be good. You guys go rest. Once I'm done, maybe we'll meet again..." Mike patted Carly's hand gently to detach her, then turned to the contemplative Chris. "I'm leaving these two in your care for the rest of the trip."
Compared to the women, Chris was handling the trauma with more logical detachment.
Chris seemed to guess Mike's intentions. He pulled out a business card. "Call me if you need anything..."
Chris – Carolina Securities Exchange / Business Manager.
He might have been a mid-level employee at a securities firm, but a title like that meant he had the resources to smooth over certain legal inconveniences.
"OK. If I need a favor, I'll call." You can never have too many friends in high places. Mike pocketed the card.
In Mike's assessment, Chris was a "smart man."
Of the three survivors, Chris was likely the only one who had figured out what was in Mike's heavy bag.
But he wisely chose not to mention it.
He treated it as Mike's personal "war trophy."
There was a tacit understanding between them, which was why Mike was willing to keep the connection open.
"Let's move. I wonder how far it is to the next town." After watching Mike's pickup disappear into the night, Chris took charge as the only remaining male.
"Not far. The nearest town is only about an hour's drive from here..." Jessie's adventure group had come from the opposite direction to explore Texas, so she knew the road ahead.
"An hour? Good! I'm going to take a scalding hot bath and sleep like the dead. My job can go to hell," Chris ranted.
The whole reason he had taken the shortcut was to meet a three-hour deadline for his company.
That was an impossible task to begin with.
After nearly dying for a paycheck, the corporate drone was filled with resentment.
Work? Compared to being alive, work didn't mean squat.
Beside him, Jessie saw Chris standing there muttering like a lunatic and quietly pulled Carly a few steps away from him.
---
Meanwhile, Mike was speeding back down the road, eager to confirm his theory.
He pushed the second-hand pickup to its limit.
With his [Level 4 Professional Driving] skill, high-speed night driving was a walk in the park.
Less than two hours later, the pickup arrived back at the dilapidated inn at the road junction.
It was nearly midnight.
The lights in the small inn were still on. Inside, shadows were intertwined, and the sounds of... vigorous activity drifted out.
"Sick freaks," Mike muttered.
He peeked through the crack in the door and immediately regretted it. He looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon.
His eyes felt dirty. He needed to bleach his brain.
The white-haired man chopping meat earlier was clearly the father.
No wonder they bred monsters and cannibals.
This family had broken every taboo in the book. Their sin meter was maxed out.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
To stop the visual pollution, Mike stood outside and politely knocked on the door.
"Who is it?"
After the rustling sound of clothes being hastily put on, a woman's voice called out.
Good. The show was over.
BANG!
Having given them enough time to cover up, Mike utilized the "Universal Key"—a violent kick to the door.
Simple and direct.
Inside, the woman, barely covered, jumped at the noise.
But when she saw who it was, she flashed a yellow-toothed smile, shaking her assets. "The cowboy from this morning? Did you come back to join the fun?"
Gross.
The woman's attempt at seduction was visceral enough to make a maggot gag. It was off the charts on the nausea scale.
"Do you recognize the monsters in this photo?" Mike pulled out the picture, his face icy cold.
Standing in the doorway, wearing a white shirt speckled with dark red bloodstains and wearing a grim expression, Mike didn't look like a customer. He looked like the Grim Reaper.
The people inside, their "game" interrupted, were already on edge.
As soon as she saw the photo, the woman knew the gig was up. Her face twisted into a snarl, and she screamed, "KILL HIM!!!"
The first to charge were the two deformed brothers.
Following them were the white-haired father and the skinny mechanic ("Big Eyes").
The woman, meanwhile, used their charge as cover to sneak toward the counter—likely for a gun.
In the small lobby, roars of anger were quickly replaced by the sickening crunch of bone, followed by wails of pain.
Mike, who was in a foul mood, didn't hold back. Seeing his opening, he unleashed four crisp, high-power roundhouse kicks.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The four men went flying, landing in various heaps of agony. They were completely incapacitated.
Throughout the entire beatdown, Mike deliberately didn't use his hands.
Why?
Because he had standards. And hygiene.
Touching them would require way too much sanitizer.